


99 Pounds

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Protective Derek, Scott is a Bad Friend, but he doesn’t mean it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite the constant ache in his stomach and the blinding pains in his head, Stiles had never felt better. He felt invulnerable - he finally felt that he was in control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's a devil inside him

**Author's Note:**

> The title is by the song ’99 pounds’ by The Monkees.
> 
> All the knowledge I have on eating disorders comes from the internet so please correct me if I am wrong about anything :)
> 
> This hasn’t been beat’d so I apologise for any mistakes...

Stiles was used to this, it was nothing new. He was used to being cast aside - he was used to being mocked and scolded - what he wasn’t used to was being hurt by Scott. He knows, deep down, Scott doesn’t mean it. He would never knowingly upset Stiles, no matter how much they may grate at each others nerves.

He and Scott were hunched up on the sofa, Iron Man playing softly in the background. Stiles hadn’t meant to make Scott angry - he never means to.

“Who’re you texting?” Stiles was fidgeting, slightly agitated by the lack off attention he had been getting from his friend over the past few hours. It was a Friday night, his and Scott’s movie night.

“Isaac.” Scott had replied bluntly, throwing a casual glance Stiles’ way. 

“Oh.” Stiles couldn’t help but feel slightly disheartened. He moved closer to Scott, resting his head on the older boy’s shoulder and pulling his blanket up around his chest. Scott had shifted slightly, shuffling away from Stiles. When Stiles hadn’t taken the hint, instead staying put in the same position, Scott huffed and shoved Stiles away from him hastily.

“Go away, Stiles! You’re so fucking annoying.” The moment the words had left his mouth Scott’s face filled with a look of utter remorse, though he made no move to console his friend.

“Whatever.” Stiles hissed, retreating back to the other side of the sofa and fixing his gaze onto the screen. He could see the worried glimpses that Scott kept throwing him from the corner of his eye.

Scott and Stiles had been best friends for going on nine years. They had basically been inseparable since they were six years old. Stiles was thirteen when he came out to Scott - well, he says came out, but it was really more of a stumble. Scott had been helping him clean up his room after one of their sleepovers, raiding all of the rubbish out of his cupboard and draws - the draws in which he kept his secret stash of ‘Attitude’ magazines. Stiles had been mortified, bumbling out excuses and apologies, but Scott had just smiled at him and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, muttering word of comfort into his ear. No matter how supportive and understanding Scott had been, things had never really been the same. He hardly ever slept round anymore, always coming up with excuses and places he had to be. When he did sleep round they no longer shared the same bed - Scott would always take the couch. They didn’t spend as much time together - Scott no longer hugged him hello or cuddled up with him whilst they watched their films; he hardly let Stiles touch him. Despite all this, Stiles couldn’t be angry with Scott, not really. Scott was still there, he hadn’t abandoned him. He tried to convince himself that these kinds of things happen, sometimes people just grow apart. Even though he wasn’t angry with Scott, he was enraged with himself. He felt it was his fault - it was him that had made things uncomfortable, who had destroyed the only good thing in his life.

Scott was still looking at him and Stiles was struggling to contain himself.

“I should just go.” Stiles said, pushing the blanket off of his legs and reaching over the get his backpack.

“Stiles” Scott protested, looking utterly miserable. Stiles felt awful for making him feel that way.  
“It’s fine.” He mumbled, sending Scott a soft smile of reassurance. “I’ve got some work to do anyway.” He stood up from his seat, making a move towards Scott to lean in for a hug before thinking better of it. Scott seemed to notice his hesitation, running his hand through his hair.

“Alright, I’ll see you Monday.” He hit Stiles on the arm playfully before returning to his phone. Stiles nodded to himself, making his way out of the door.

-

Stiles returned home about 10 minutes later. His dad was sat watching the t.v., a bag of crisps in one hand and a beer in another. His head snapped up when he heard Stiles enter and he tried to hide his food down the side of the cushion. 

“You’re home early.” He said, his panicked look morphing into one of concern. Stiles simply shook his head and dropped his bag to the floor.

“I don’t feel well. I’m gonna head to bed.” His father looked at him perturbed and Stiles couldn’t help but feel guilty for worrying him. He sent his father the best grin he could muster before disappearing up the stairs.

His room was dark and cold. He didn’t bother turning the lights on or taking off his clothes - he simply dived into his bed and shoved himself under the duvet. He laid there for a while, staring up at the ceiling, blocking everything else out. He was only brought out of his trance by the light flickering on his phone, signaling that he had a message. He reached over to grab it, wincing as the bright light assaulted his eyes.

‘Need you to look something up.’ It was from Derek. Stiles groaned, typing out a quick reply.

‘Can’t, i’m busy.’ 

He didn’t want to face anyone - he wanted to sit at home feeling sorry for himself.

-

Stiles didn’t go to school on Monday, or on Tuesday. His dad had let him stay home, thinking that his son was ill. His phone had been buzzing on the bedside table for the past few minutes and it was becoming increasingly hard for him to ignore. He glanced at the screen, scrunching his nose in distaste when he saw that it was Scott calling. Stiles let it ring off, only for it to begin ringing again a few moments later. He rubbed at his temple, trying to relieve the growing pressure in his head before he answered the phone. They hadn’t spoken since Friday and Stiles had been dreading this conversation.

“Stiles?” He heard Scott mutter on the other end of the phone.

“What do you want?” Stiles hissed. He hadn’t meant to snap - he knew that he had no reason to be angry with Scott, he had brought this on himself.

“Fuck man, I thought something had happened to you. Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t coming in?” Stiles sighed and brought his hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I just want to be alone right now, alright?” He asked, becoming increasingly more agitated as the seconds passed.

“Why? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” The unease was evident in Scott’s voice and when Stiles didn’t reply he spewed out a groan.

“I’m coming over.” He stated and then hung up before Stiles had time to reply. He laid down, grabbing a pillow from behind his head, bringing it up in front of his face and letting out a desperate sob.

-

Stiles was sat watching the clock above the fireplace tick away. He was dreading the arrival of Scott. He really wasn’t in the mood to put up with his ribbing. Although he would never admit it, Stiles was tired of being the butt of the joke. He wanted to feel like part of the group for once.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Were the first words that left Scott’s mouth as he turned up a few minutes later, Isaac trailing behind him. Isaac burst into a fit of laughter, walking up to Stiles and ruffling his hair. Stiles furrowed his eyebrows and looked down at his clothes, not finding anything wrong with his outfit.

“What’s wrong with it?” He questioned with a small frown on his lips. Scott just let out a chuckle and made his way towards Stiles. He walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, grabbing his slightly exposed stomach. Stiles tried shaking him off but he wouldn’t budge.

“Your stomach is hanging out dude.” He said, trying to hold back his laughter. “You’re practically popping out of you clothes.”

Stiles scrunched up his face and started wriggling around in the embrace, causing Scott to release him.

“Fuck off.” Stiles sneered and walked over to the armchair in the corner of the room. His friend just shook his head and giggled, following him over towards the chair.

“That’s my seat.” He said, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

“Move, Stiles.” He demanded, grabbing his waist and trying to pull him off. Stiles couldn’t help but smile at his friend, jokingly whacking his hand away.

“You’re too heavy, I can’t move you.” He groaned, falling to the floor and rolling around, “I think I broke my wrist.”

The smile immediately left Stiles’ face and was instead replaced with a solid glare. Noticing the change in tone, Isaac plonked himself down on the arm of the seat and draped his arm across his shoulders.

“C’mon Stiles, we’re only having a laugh.” Isaac called and let out a chuckle, urging Stiles to join in. He eventually did, not wanting to cause a scene.  
Stiles couldn’t stop the tears building in his eyes and he mentally cursed himself for getting upset over something so stupid, but he couldn’t help it. He was angry at Scott and Isaac for making fun of him, but most of all he was angry at himself for just sitting there and taking it. Sometimes he thinks that this isn’t the way that friends treat each other - most friends don’t taunt their other friend with cruel jokes. They never treat each other that way, it’s only Stiles - it’s always Stiles.

-

After that, Stiles began to take notice the slight protruding of his belly that could be seen through the gap in his tightly fitting shirts. He invested in some larger shirts, just baggy enough to hide his weight. Then he began to notice the way his thighs would rub together as he walked, creating a slight amount of friction. He brought some slightly baggier trousers, opting out of his usual choice of skinny jeans. Next it was his arms - he could see the way the fat would jiggle around as he walked. He started wearing longer sleeved shirts and hoodies. Before long it was his chin. He began to notice the way his skin would fold as he laughed; he could feel the layer of fat cushioning his face. 

Stiles cut down on his calorie intake - he stopped eating pizza and sweets and instead went for salads and soup. He liked it. He enjoyed controlling what he did and didn’t eat - it gave him a sense of self discipline. 

Eventually he began to cut down again - he went from three meals a day to a few snacks throughout the day. After that he would only eat enough to keep him from passing out. Sometimes it was an apple, other times it would be a lump of cheese or a slice of bread. 

Despite the constant ache in his stomach and the blinding pains in his head, Stiles had never felt better. He felt invulnerable - he finally felt that he was in control.


	2. Little bittle babe of explosivity

Stiles heard the key being turned in the door and attempted to stand up off of the sofa. As soon as he was on his feet he felt himself stumble back, his vision turning blotchy. His head had been spinning all day and he couldn’t expel the spasms in his stomach - even gulping back a bottle of water hadn’t been enough to fool his body.

“Stiles, you home?” His dad called out, pushing the front door open. Stiles let out a frustrated sigh when he was once gain unable to push himself up. Instead he settled back into the cushions, looking back over his shoulder to greet his dad. As the sheriff began to make his way into the room Stiles grabbed the blanket beside him and threw it over himself, trying to hide his hefty figure from his father’s view.

“What are you doing?” He asked with amusement palpable in his voice. Stiles shrugged his shoulders, smiling at his dad as he placed himself down beside his son.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked in a soft voice, grabbing Stiles’ chin with his fingers and pushing his head up to look him in the eyes.

“I’m fine, dad.” Stiles watched as his father inspected his face, running his thumb gently along his cheek.

“You’re looking very pale.” John’s eyes were filled with doubt. He slowly exhaled before removing his hand, shuffling back into his seat.

“Why aren’t you at Scott’s? You’re normally there on a Friday.” Stiles’ body stiffened slightly as he turned his attention to the screen of his phone.

“We’ve both got a lot of work to do.” He lied, feeling a slight blush creeping up his neck. The sheriff seemed to accept the answer, sending his a nod.

Stiles hadn’t been to Scott’s in weeks - it was his choice. He didn’t want to have to sit there stuffing his face. It was too much. The last time Scott had pestered him, forcing him to eat his half of the pizza, groaning when Stiles had resisted. Stiles had felt sick; he felt disgusted with himself. The moment he returned home he had had to empty the contents of his stomach into the toilet, cringing as the acidic bile burned his throat.

“What do you want for dinner? I was thinking that we could get a take out.” John broke the few minutes of silence, shuffling around in his pocket to pull out his wallet. Stiles stalled for a second, trying to think of an excuse.

“I’ve already eaten.” He blurted out, trying to make himself look as casual as possible.

“Oh.” Was the only reply he got and he couldn’t help but notice the disappointment on his dad’s face.

“Maybe we can get lunch together next week or something.” Stiles spoke, although he had no intention of that ever happening. 

-  
Stiles avoided the cafeteria at school. Instead he kept himself busy in the library, and with exams coming up it was an easy way out. His friends complained slightly, with Scott and Isaac occasionally coming to pester him. They would bring him snacks and drinks which Stiles would hastily hide away in his bag, claiming that he was saving it for later.

“I got you a blueberry muffin.” Scott grinned, slamming the food down in from of him. Stiles could feel the alarm rising within him. He snatched it quickly, making a move to place it in his backpack, but Scott stopped him. 

“Aren’t you going to eat it?” He looked completely jilted, tilting his head to the side and widening his eyes at his friend.

“I’m not hungry.” Stiles said easily. “I’ll have it later.”

Scott dropped it, leaning back in his seat and kicking his feet up on the desk.

-

It took months of dieting for Stiles to notice any change in his body. He could feel that his legs no longer rubbed together as he walked and he could feel the weight dropping from him face - but it wasn’t enough. He was still fat. His stomach still stuck out and his arms were still heavy by his side. He still wasn’t where he wanted to be. He looked at Scott and Isaac - their lean, gaunt bodies. He couldn’t help but feel envious; that was what he wanted. They didn’t have to control their urges, they were free to do as they pleased.  
Instead of eating a lump of cheese, he began drinking diet coke. It was just enough to fill the void in his stomach. He would occasionally eat a few sticks of carrot or treat himself to some celery, but it wasn’t often.

Stiles was becoming increasingly used to saying “I’m not hungry”, or “i’ll have something later.” Everyone seemed to accept his explanations; there was not reason for them not to. He was able to worm his way around them, blurting out lie after lie to protect himself. He knows that they wouldn’t understand - they’re always trying to make him eat, trying to knock down all his hard work. Every time he ate he felt like he was taking a step back. He felt like he was staring all over again.

“Just leave it, Lydia.” Stiles murmured, pushing his hand against his temple as she took a seat beside him. She huffed out a breath, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.

“Why won’t you come? Everyone else will be there.” Lydia had been planning her birthday dinner for weeks now, but despite how awful he felt about abandoning his friend, he couldn’t go through that.

“I’ve got way too much work to do.” He knew it was a weak excuse, but it was all he had.

“We all have work to do, Stiles.” She was growing more and more frustrated by the second. “One night won’t hurt.” When she got no reply she sent him a teasing smile.

“Derek will be there.” She said knowingly, in a last ditch attempt to convince him. Stiles shuddered. He didn’t want Derek to see him, he hadn’t seen him in months. He doesn’t need Derek to know how vulgar he has become. 

“Lydia.” He whined, trying to resist the puppy dog eyes she was throwing his way. 

“Just one night.” She fluttered her eyelashes and Stiles was gone.

“Fine.” He spat, although there was no animosity behind it, and Lydia gleamed.

-

Derek showed up to the part twenty minutes late. He could feel the sets of eyes on him as he made his way to his seat, muttering out apologies and placing a small kiss on Lydia’s head as he walked past. He was sat between Erica and Stiles. Erica patted him on the arm whilst Stiles kept his gaze on his plate of food. 

Stiles looked awful - his skin was thin and pale and his eyes looked as if they had sunken into his face. Derek was unable to ignore the minor twang in the pit of his stomach.

“It’s good to see you, Stiles.” He said, ruffling his hand through the younger boys hair and giving him a firm pat on the back. Stiles smiled in reply, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

“You too, Derek.” 

-

As the night went on, conversation was still flowing across the table. Derek found himself concerned with the way Stiles shrunk himself into the corner. He didn’t contribute to the discussion, he only smiled and laughed when appropriate. It looked as if he was simply going through the motions, as if he wasn’t really there at all. He had been pushing the food around on his plate, squashing it up against the sides with his fork. He would occasionally bring the food up to his mouth, only to place it back down again when no one was looking. It was a technique that Stiles knew all too well - he knew how to be inconspicuous, he knew how to keep appearances up. Derek seemed to be the only one who noticed the odd behavior.

“Are you not hungry?” He whispered against Stiles’ ear, leaning against his chair to get as close as he could. He could feel the hairs prickle on the boy’s neck and he chuckled to himself, reaching his arm over to wrap around his shoulder. It was a familiar position, though he could feel Stiles tense under his arm and he immediately released his grip.

“I don’t like fish.” He murmured, turning away from Derek.

“Here.” Derek said, grabbing some food between his knife and fork and dropping it onto Stiles’ plate. “You can have my carrots.” Stiles simpered at him, although it didn’t appear to be genuine.

He stabbed at the vegetables harshly, eating them a small piece at a time. He peeked a look at Derek every few seconds, checking whether he was still watching. Derek didn’t stop watching until the food was gone from the plate.

Stiles was seething. He had been getting away with it - he had nearly managed to go the whole meal without so much as a crumb entering his mouth, but Derek had ruined it. He could feel the food weighing in his belly. He would try to get away to the bathroom but he was under the watchful eye of Derek. It had been nearly ten minutes since he finished eating and he knew that the longer he waited the harder it would be for him to bring the food back up.

He was twisting around in his chair, one eye still on the clock in the corner of the room. He could tell that he was drawing attention to himself and he cringed, urging himself to relax. He knew that this would mean he couldn’t eat his snack tomorrow, and he wan’t sure how he was going to get through the day without even a stick of celery to tide him over. He though that maybe, if he could shake off the attention of Derek and a few others seated around the table, he would be able to sneak away for a few minutes. He didn’t have much time left. 

“I’m gonna head to the bathroom.” He whispered to Boyd who was sitting opposite him on the table. He nodded slowly, diverting his attention from his conversation with Erica.

“Is he alright?” Derek questioned Boyd as soon as Stiles had left his line of sight.

“Yeah, he’s just gone to the bathroom.” 

-

Stiles was slouched against the bathroom wall, his skin sweaty and clammy as he wiped his mouth with some toilet roll. Stiles couldn’t remove the taste of bile that was festering on his tongue, no matter how many times he rinsed out his mouth. He wants to cry - he wants to just lay down on the bathroom floor and disappear. Instead, he pushed himself off the floor, washed his hands and readjusted his hair, trying to cover the dampness. He felt completely numb. There was no high to it - it wasn’t the same as with his diet. It didn’t give him control, it made him feel empty. The first time it had happened stuck with him - it was like any other life defining moment; the death of his mother, his first kiss, his first day of high-school. It was impossible to forget. The thing he remembers most vividly is the taste. That is something that he can never get used to. It clung to him, refusing to leave. Eventually it just became a part of him. Before long he got used to the coughing, he learnt to control it. He learnt how to keep quiet, how to cover his tracks. When he finally comes up for air, it is as if someone has pulled him from his grave, filling him with life. The strain on his throat stays with him, acting as a constant reminder and giving away the tell tale signs with the roughness in his voice.

He gives himself a once over before leaving, making the final alterations before he returns to the table.

“Everything alright?” Lydia asks as he makes his way back into the room.

“Everything’s fine.” He says, throwing her a large grin and receiving one back in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m up to around 7,000 words at the moment so updates shouldn’t be too slow :)


	3. It don’t even pay to fight

Stiles couldn’t stop shaking. Despite the fact that he was bundled up in layers of clothing, his whole body was trembling from the frigidness that filled the room. 

The pack were gathered at Derek’s house, all curled up on the sofa. Stiles had been the last to arrive, meaning he had to reside on the armchair, away from the rest of the group. Derek’s eyes were set on Stiles, watching the way he squirmed and fidgeted, trying to find some warmth. He and Stiles had never been that close, but Derek couldn’t help but worry for him - he was pack, after all. Stiles hadn’t been around much lately, claiming that he either had too much school work or wanted to spend some time with his dad. Derek knew that he was lying; he could hear it in the way his heart skipped and his breathing began to pick up. 

“Do you want to come over here, Stiles?” Derek asked, pushing himself up slightly so there was a small space between himself and Scott.

“I’m alright.” He replied and Derek could hear his teeth chattering. He furrowed his eyebrows, motioning for Stiles to come over with the flick of his head, but he simply frowned.

Scott also began to notice the way his friend was shivering, cuddling himself into the corner of the chair. He pulled the jacket off from his shoulders and stood from is seat, making his way across the room.

“Put this on.” He urged, shoving it in Stiles’ face as he grabbed his ankles, pulling him across the chair so that there was room for him to squeeze in. Everyone was watching them - observing the way Stiles allowed Scott to reposition him, barely resisting the touch. The film playing on the television was long forgotten. 

Stiles reached for the jacket, sending Scott a grateful look before wrapping it around himself. Scott placed himself beside Stiles, drawing him into his arms. It felt overly familiar, though he hadn’t held Stiles like this in a long time. Scott felt a stab of shame as Stiles settled into his arms, the tremors easing slightly. The atmosphere within the room was becoming increasingly tense as everyone watched the boys interact. 

“You alright?” Scott whispered against Stiles’ ear so that only he was able to hear. Stiles nodded softly as a small smile spread across his lips. It had been a while since Scott had gotten this close to him, and he found himself cultivating in the moment.

As everyone began to settle, the attention returned to the t.v. and Stiles found himself drifting off. Scott heard his breathing begin to even out and shifted his sleeping figure into his lap, cradling his head against his shoulder. He could feel the array of eyes on him, studying him from the other side of the room. Derek’s glare was piercing through him.

“What’s wrong with him?” Erica was the first to break the silence. She was perched on Boyd’s lap, looking as Stiles with a curious expression. Scott shrugged, careful not disturb him. His answer didn’t seem to satisfy her - she kept her eyes fixed on him, letting out a huff as she leaned back into Boyd’s embrace.

No one else spoke, but Derek moved to where Scott had been sitting, leaning across the side of the sofa to get a good look at Stiles.

“Want me to take him upstairs?” He asked after a few moments, but Scott shook his head quickly and turned back to the screen.

“He’s fine.” He stated, through he had a hard time believing those words himself.

-

Everyone had noticed the way Scott had drawn himself away from Stiles - it was no secret to any of them. They watched the as the two of them circled around each other. The rest of the pack had never bonded with Stiles in the way that Scott had. They didn’t have that same connection. They would consider themselves more acquaintances than friends, though Stiles seemed to cling to them like a life line. When Scott joined the pack, Stiles came along as part of a package deal. Despite knowing this, it did nothing to soften the blow for Stiles. As Scott began to draw away, so did the rest of the pack. Stiles figured that he was partly to blame: he had been the one to stop going to pack meeting, to repeatedly call off his and Scott’s movie night, but now he was sat alone in the middle of the cafeteria, having found nowhere else to go. Scott and the rest of the group were sat a few tables away, all clambered around Lydia’s phone. They were all laughing carelessly, bouncing off one another in an easy manner. It was never that way when Stiles was around - he felt like their conversations were more forced; they didn’t flow so easily. He never laughed the way they did, always too full of inhibition. Stiles couldn’t bring himself to go over there - he felt so out of place.

Isaac caught Stiles’ eye across the room and sent him a half hearted smile, turning around to nudge Scott. When Scott looked over, Stiles’ lips quirked slightly, though as there eyes met, Scott quickly averted his gaze. Stiles felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach - he watched as Isaac leant into Scott, murmuring something into his ear. Scott glanced at him quickly out of the corner of his eye and let out a slight chuckle.

-

Scott had known that he and Stiles had been growing apart for months now - but that didn’t make the dissolution any easier. There is no good reason as to why they had drifted, it just seems to have happened. There conversations are filled with uncomfortable silences and idle talk. Stiles doesn’t seem to have noticed - he clutches at what little connection there still is, following Scott around like a lost sheep. Scott still cares for him, he doesn’t think that will ever go away, but the intimacy of their friendship seems to have disappeared. He is filled with grief, knowing that he is the only one Stiles has, the only person in his life other than his dad. Stiles and Lydia are friends, but it is nowhere near the same thing - Lydia is friends with everyone. Despite the gnawing guilt, Scott can feel himself growing increasingly frustrated. He acts as if everything is okay, inviting Stiles to pack meeting, offering for him to come round his house, but when Stiles starts to back away, Scott can’t help but feel a sense of relief.

-

When John got home, Stiles was sat in the hallway, slouched against the wall with his head nestled in his hands. He could feel the weight move to his shoulders as he rushed forward, throwing himself down next to his son.

“Stiles?” He breathed, wrapping his arm around his boy’s shoulders and pulled him into his chest. Stiles was fiddling with his fingers, a small frown plastered on his trembling lips. He didn’t reply, he just bit his tongue and turned his head away.

“It’s okay.” He promised, coming his hands through his hair and placing a gentle kiss on the crown of his head. John closed his eyes for a minute, trying to calm himself down - as he opened them again he could feel his own tears seeping out.

“Everything’s fine, son.” His voice was cracking and he could feel himself about to crumble. It broke his heat to see his child this way.

“I’m fine, dad.” Stiles muttered, seemingly gaining composure. He pushed himself out of his father’s grasp and roughly wiped the wetness from his eyes. He plastered a smile on his face in such a practiced way that it sent a chill up the sheriff’s spine. Stiles grinned up at him and rested his head against his arm.

“I love you, dad, you know that right?” Instead of answering him he lifted one of his arms and wrapped it around his son’s neck, pulling him into another tight embrace.


	4. Under all that powder and paint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mainly about Stiles and his dad - I promise Derek will be coming back soon oohhh
> 
> Thank you guys for all of the lovely comments, hopefully the next chapter will be up by tomorrow or on Monday :-)

The Sheriff was used to his son’s often erratic behavior - it wasn’t at all unusual - though in the past few days his behavior seems to have suffered a dramatic change. He’d put it down to the incident between Scott and Stiles, but he had received very little information about what had actually happened between the two of them. Stiles refused to leave the house, opting to stay in, sitting on the sofa and watching pointless documentaries hours on end. He had been missing vital days off of school and John was beginning to lose his wits. His anxiety was getting gradually worse, going from a few panic attacks a month to a panic attack every other day - he felt like he was losing his son. 

“I’ve called doctor Martin.” He stated, breaking the silence that had built up between them and falling down next to Stiles on the sofa, draping his arm across the back of it. He felt the boy’s body tense under his touch as he flinched away.

“What would you do that for?” He screeched, his eyes going wide and glossy. His voice was bristle, shaking involuntarily. John studied his son - the way his jaw was twitching and his nostrils flared.

“I want you to get help, son.” He wanted to reach out, pull Stiles into his arms and squeeze him as tightly as he could, but as soon as he made a move towards him, Stiles was off of the sofa and out of the door - he heard him stomp up the stairs heavily, with only a moment of peace before his door was slammed shut. 

John sat in the same position for about twenty minutes. He had his elbows rested on his knees, his head in his hands as he tugged at his thinning hair. Although he hadn’t expected their conversation to go much differently, it still hurt. All he wanted to do was help his son - he had been distancing himself for months now. Stiles though that he hadn’t noticed. He thought his dad hadn’t seen the way he looked at him, obscure and aloof. He thought he hadn’t noticed the way he hid himself away in his room, ignoring his dad for days on end. At first he felt it was just normal teenage behavior - he had heard his friends talking about their children at work, talking about the way they screamed and shouted, rebelling against their parents in every way they knew how - yet he had never had that with Stiles. When his son was upset he kept it hidden away, and that was what scared him the most.

-

Stiles was mentally cursing his dad for making his go through with this. He couldn’t comprehend why his father had thought this was a good idea - meeting with one of his former friends parents to talk about his anxiety when said former friend seemed to have played a crucial role in his healths decline. Stiles hadn’t talked to Lydia, or anyone else in the pack, for more than a few days. He’d thought about it, composing text after text, trying to think of something appropriate to say but nothing came to mind. Everything he wrote came out as whiny and pathetic.

“I think I want to refer you to my friend, doctor Richards.” Mr Martin murmured, slightly distracted by the sheet of paper laying on his desk. The sheriff was sat down beside his son, shifting uncomfortably in the plastic chair. He was staring straight ahead at the doctor, worry lines prominent on his forehead. He hadn’t been able relax, too thrown off by Stiles’ behavior. 

“He’s a therapist who specializes in treating anxiety disorders.” The doctor continued, speaking only to the sheriff. Stiles felt as if he were invisible - Lydia’s father hadn’t spoken a word to him since he walked into the room; everything he said was directed at his dad.

John nodded, reaching an arm across to pat Stiles on the back. Stiles couldn’t control the way his body recoiled. He didn’t want his father touching him - he didn’t want anyone to feel his repulsive body.

“That’s great, thank you.” John grinned, reaching out a hand to shake Dr Martin’s and moving to stand out of his seat, seemingly unaware of his son’s reaction. Lydia’s dad passed him a sheet of paper with the information on it and sent him and small smile, briefly looking at Stiles out of the corner of his eye. 

“I was wondering if I could talk to you dad alone for a moment, Stiles.” Mr Martin’s voice was rough. He was making his way out from behind the desk and over to the door, gesturing for Stiles to leave. He hesitated for a moment, looking at his dad for approval before following the orders. As he left the room he felt the doctor’s eyes roam over his body and the bile began rising in his throat.

The last thing Stiles expected to see when he stepped out into the waiting room was Lydia, balancing on the edge of the check in desk, her legs crossed and her phone dangling from her hand. She looked slightly startled as her eyes landed on Stiles, but that look quickly moved to one of concern. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked, her voice one of worry. Stiles let out a biting laugh, only slightly bothered by the distressed look that covered her features. Rather than reply, Stiles wiggled past her, walking outside to stand beside his dad’s car. Through the window he could just about see Lydia, gaping after him as she began fiercely texting someone on her phone.

-  
The Sheriff watched his son leave the room, anxiously awaiting the doctor to begin speaking.

“Other than his change in behavior, have you noticed anything different about Stiles?” He questioned, appearing completely unfazed by the bewildered look on his face.

“Why do you ask?” His tone came across as more defensive than he had intended but he kept his composure.

“Your son looks ill.” He exclaimed simply. He was pacing back and forth as he spoke, one hand carelessly thrown into the pocket of his jeans as the other tugged at his sleeve.

“He’s very pale.” The sheriff could tell that he was trying to ease his way into the conversation. “He seems to have lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw him.”

John’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t help but feel that he was being attacked.

“He’s been going through a lot at the moment.” He spat. “My son is perfectly healthy. I make sure of it.”

“This is nothing to do with your parenting skills, John.” He spat back, his tone firm and heavy. “I just think that you need to be keeping an eye on him.” The atmosphere softened slightly at that last line. John’s head fell down, his arms clamped to his sides.

“I’ll watch him.” He promised, giving Martin one more look before following after his son.


	5. He can hang you up every night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so, so sorry that it has taken me this long to update, but I had a school-work related emergency agh 
> 
> I’ve got exams coming up so updates might be quite slow from now on, but I promise I’ll try my hardest :-)

It was a few hours later that the front door blasted shut, indicating Stiles had left. John tried to run after him, but by the time he reached the door Stiles was already out of sight.

Stiles ran until he had exhausted himself - until he couldn’t bear to move an inch further. It was raining outside and he had forgone a jacket, not really considering where he was going. He was hidden away under the bus shelter, curled into a ball to preserve what little body heat he had left. His clothes were clinging to his skin, doing noting to hide the layers of fat that he could feel smothering him. 

“You’re not a healthy weight, son.” His father had said, a look of complete and utter  
disappointment plastered on his face. The words were echoing around in his head, playing themselves over and over. Stiles knew he was too big - it was all he could see every time he looked at himself - but the confirmation from his father had felt as if someone was ripping him apart, limb from limb.

Stiles had never felt so destitute. Only a few minutes after leaving his house, he had come to the realization that he was alone - there was no one for him to run to, no one waiting for him - so he sat under the shelter, focusing on the rain as it pelted down around him. It was dark outside and the only spark of light was the street lamp across the road, flickering restlessly. Stiles couldn’t bring himself to relax, even as the rain started to hinder and his body became numb. Every car that passed startled him out of his comfort, forcing him back into sensibility. 

-

Derek was the one to find Stiles. He was completely frozen, folded up on the side of the road. 

“Stiles?” He had screeched, pulling the young boy into his arms, flinching when he was met with ice-cold skin. Stiles was completely exposed to the wind and in an effort to protect him, Derek ripped the jumper from his body, bundling it onto the boy and guiding his arms through the holes. Once he was wrapped up, Derek lifted him, allowing him to rest his face in the crook of his neck. His body wouldn’t stop trembling and Derek was having a hard time in containing his fright. Stiles appeared to be completely unresponsive, not even motioning to acknowledge Derek’s presence. He was placed into the car. Derek had tried to sit him up, but he simply fell back down, his neck craned against the door. 

“I’m going to take you to the hospital, okay?” Derek muttered, combing one of his hands through Stiles’ matted hair. That seemed to get a rise out of him - his eyes snapped open, brimming with complete terror as he attempted to reach his arm out to grab at Derek.

“No.” The word caused Derek’s heart to plummet. He had never seen Stiles this way. Stiles was usually so full of life, so bright and playful and magnificent - the boy he was looking at now, so unresponsive and feeble, that wasn’t Stiles. Noticing the panic his words had imparted, Derek nodded, moving away from the trembling body and into the driver’s seat.

“Okay.” He promised, nodding once more to himself. “Okay.”

 

-

By the time they were back at Derek’s, Stiles was comatose and Derek was having second thoughts about not taking him straight to the hospital.

“Stiles.” Derek was trying to keep his voice as calm as possible as he stood over the boy, fast asleep on the sofa. His body was still shaking, despite the look of ease that flooded his features. “Stiles, I need you to wake up.”

He wanted to get him out of his wet clothes, but he needed him to be conscious before he could make that move. 

“I’m going to change you into some dry clothes, alright?” He asked as Stiles began to stir. He was looking up at Derek, yet he appeared totally unaware of anything going on around him. Rather than wait for a reply, Derek grabbed the jumper that he had dressed him in earlier and pulled it over his head, taking the sopping undershirt with it. He tried not to look at Stiles’ bare chest, but he couldn’t help but notice the way his bones protruded from his body. The skin appeared to be stretching in an effort to cover his ribs, with not enough fat covering his ossified frame. Derek felt sick - he wanted to reach out and touch him, not believing it to be real, but as he looked down he met Stiles’ eyes, staring up at him with an utterly blank expression. It knocked the air out of him - he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t do anything.

“Stiles.” He whispered. The name fell from his mouth before he had a chance to stop it. As Stiles’ body continued to writher beneath him, Derek tentatively reached out his hand, placing his palm against the flat stomach and spreading his fingers. He felt that if he applied too much pressure Stiles would simply break apart beneath him. He rubbed his hand against the skin gently, attempting to pass on some of his own body heat. 

Knocking himself out of his trance, Derek reached down and undid Stiles’ trousers with trembling hands. He tugged them down his legs, noticing the way the wet cloth was met with no resistance as he slid them down - there was not fat for the cloth to cling to. He had to stop himself from looking at Stiles, his body completely bare beneath him. His skin was so pale; he had no substance to him. He looked completely defenseless laid out that way. After only a few moments of stalling, Derek began to dress him in some of his old clothes, unnerved by the way the fabric drowned his body, giving no indication to what lies beneath.

Derek took a seat on the sofa, propping the still drowsy boy up against him. They stayed sitting in that position for hours, not once speaking. In any other situation Derek would have reveled in being alone with Stiles - something rarely ever happened - but now all he could focus on was the sense of dread that was building within him.

The warm breath on his neck was the only reminder of Stiles’ presence. He could barely feel the weight of him against his shoulder. Stiles was mumbling in his sleepy state, nuzzling his nose against Derek’s skin.

Derek knew that eventually he would have to break out of his reverie - he would have to call Stiles’ dad, he would have to tell him, but for the moment he stayed absolutely still, listening closely to the beat of Stiles’ heart.


End file.
